


A Proposition

by AnnieVH



Series: Queens of Darkness Sitcom AU [6]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen, Humor, Queens of Darkness, Rumbelle - Freeform, Sitcom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:14:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4842032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieVH/pseuds/AnnieVH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm tries to solve things with Milah. Ella thinks it’s a bad idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Proposition

Belle was exhausted. Not that she wasn't used to the feeling, since being Ella Gold's trusty assistant was a full time job that stretched to odd hours and even more odd places. But these had been two very long days, with barely any sleep. All that belle wanted was to go home, kick her shoes off, and not worry about the Queens or their family members for at least twenty four hours. Or until Miss Gold called her at 3am because she had a stroke of genius.

On her tip toes, Belle walked back into the apartment and left the car keys on the table. As long as no one saw her, she could sneak out and claim later she assumed she had been dismissed. The Queens would probably claim it wasn't her best service, but right now she was too tired to care.

“Leaving so soon?”

Belle froze on the spot and made sure to have a smile when she turned.

“Yes, Miss Carroll. If you don't need anything else.”

“There is one thing you could help me with.”

Of course there is, Belle thought.

Out loud, she said, “Of course. Anything you need.”

“You are a reasonably talented writer. You do know that.”

Belle leaned forward, interested. “I have been told, yes.”

“You've been spell checking for us for a while now. I'm sure you picked up some new tricks.”

“I have, actually. This job has been very-”

“Yes,” Ursula cut in. if she allowed her, the girl could rant forever about the joys of her servitude. No wonder Ella liked her so much. “So I was wondering if you wrote anything regarding the Herman situation.”

Belle's heart almost leaped out of her mouth. Was she asking Belle to write an article? Belle? Little, insignificant Belle who'd give _anything_ – including her left arm and, maybe, her high heels – for a chance such as that? Had her moment finally-

“Hello?” Ursula said, starting to sound annoyed. “Belle?”

“I-I have not, Miss Carroll. But if you'd like me to-”

“So you did not write this?”

Ursula held up Mr. Gold's report.

“No, Miss Carroll, that was Mr. Gold. But if you'd like-”

“Every word of it?”

“Yes, but-”

“So he didn't ask you to write this for him?”

“Well, he asked me to, but I didn't. I said he had agreed to do it for Miss Gold and that I shouldn't have to do it for him.”

“He must have been angry.”

Mr. Gold had huffed and puffed and all but thrown a tantrum in the middle of the dinner. But because they were in a public place, with people who were already having a ball laughing at his misfortunes, he restricted himself to refusing to say another word until they got to New York.

“He didn't appreciate my principles,” Belle said.

“So this is _his_ writing?”

“Every word. Why?”

“Huh!” Ursula said, looking at the pages again. “Who'd have thought? Though I should have guessed you wouldn't have entitled it with so much sass.”

Belle's hope deflated quickly after that.

“ _She should have left before midnight_ , that is-” Ursula laughed. “That is funny, and just a little bit offensive. Although, if I were to make a Cinderella pun, I'd have gone with _Bibidy Bobidy Baby_.”

Belle hoped her face was too tired to convey disappointment. It must have, because Ursula looked up and didn't seem moved by what she saw. Or she simply didn't care. Probably the latter.

“That will be all, dear. Go to bed. You look beastly.”

*

Malcolm couldn't sleep.

He had been up for almost three days now, driven out of state and back again, not had a sip of coffee since the night before, but he couldn't sleep.

Going back to Storybrooke was a mistake. He should have turned back the moment the waitress had smiled at him and announced, loud enough for everyone to hear, “You know, this is the first cup of coffee I served you without spit in it? But I'm sure you won't be able to tell the difference.”

People had laughed, some quite openly. Not that he could blame them. Now, he was no longer their landlord. He wasn't anything but an old man with a cane and no power. Who'd respect that? Not Milah, that was for sure. She didn't bother answering his calls, nor the doorbell when he came up to see her.

The paparazzi and the maid hadn't been all that terrible. And thank god for Miss French. Not that he would ever admit it, but if she had not been there to add some tact to the hole operation, Miss Boyd would have slammed the door on his face and kept herself (and her illegitimate daughter) as far away from them as possible. And Miss French had been sensible too, recommending her a lawyer and helping her realize that, no, she shouldn't just accept scraps from her father in law. Not that Malcolm would say it to her face that she had been useful, the girl needed to take her pride down a notch.

However, useful or not, she had been there to witness his humiliation and Ella would later drill her and Jefferson for the nasty details, which they would give willingly.

Giving up sleep, Malcolm walked to the kitchen to have a glass of water – and maybe something stronger if he could get his hands on it. He could hear Ella and her two friends discussing in the living room, so he stayed as far away from it as he could.

The screaming reached him anyway.

“I don't care if it's good, Ursula!” Ella was saying, and things must be serious because there was the hint of a Glaswegian accent in her voice. That only happened when she was too distressed to remember she was not Kate Middleton. “If you want someone else, we can choose from the _hundreds of thousands_ of writers that arrive in New York every day!”

“Will you _stop_ being stubborn?” one of the others replied. For the love of god, Malcolm still couldn't remember who was who. “ _He's_ the one! _He's_ what we need!”

“Ursula is right,” said the _other_ other one. And if that was Ursula, this had to be Mel or Mal. Or Mill? “This is _gold_! It is bound to ruffle some feathers! More than any sex dun-”

“That does it,” Malcolm sighed, pulling the phone out of his pocket and dialing Milah's number. Dignity was an overrated concept created by people who never had to share a flat with their younger sister and their annoying friends. Time to beg. “It's me, pick up the phone.”

He waited.

Nothing.

“Milah, I know you're there. Pick up the phone so we can talk about this.”

Again, nobody picked up on the other side of the line and he was left with the silence of the anwsering machine.

“Alright,” he sighed, defeated. “I see. I was hoping you'd have changed your mind by now, but apparently you mean it this time. For the record, I can't think of a more cowardly way to end a marriage, but you've made your point. I'm not interested in being penniless for as long as you can drag out this divorce. So you won. I'll talk to my lawyer and you'll get the settlement you want, as long as we can put an end to this pointless-”

The phone was taken from his hand and, before he could do anything about it, his sister was already speaking, “Hello, old shrew! This is the sister-in-law you never liked.”

“ _E_ _lla_!”

Malcolm jumped off the chair, but she pushed his cane to the floor before he could reach it and walked away from him, babbling on the phone, “Ignore everything my brother said. He is no longer your doormat, and you are no longer entitled to anything because everybody knows you were cheating on him.”

“Ella, come back here!”

He limped after her, but as soon as they reached the living room, Ella simply threw the phone over his head.

On the other side of the room, Ursula got it.

“And you don't know me,” she said on the phone, “but as soon as we can prove you were keeping a lover boy on the side, you'll be out of this marriage with nothing but the clothes off your back. Enjoy the house while you can, because you'll soon be sleeping in your car.”

“What the _hell_ are you doing?” he screamed, hoping the machine would record him in the background trying to keep the crazy ladies from screwing up what could be an easy (even if expensive) way out of his marriage. “Give me back my phone!”

He crossed the room surprisingly fast, but Mal was faster and took the phone from Ursula before he could reach her.

“And by the way, I'm sure you had a lot of legitimate complaints about your husband-oh!” she said when Malcolm tried to attack her for the phone. She held him off by pushing a hand to his chest and watching him flail his arms helplessly. “Freakishly short arms and fierce opposition to change being the two that come to mind right now. But nothing justifies tricking him out of his money just so he'll be forced into a quick settlement, especially when you could have easily walked out of this with fifty per cent of everything if you had just been patient.”

“ _This is none of your business! Give it back!_ ” he screamed, fingers brushing at the phone.

Ella took it and carried it away again.

“Thank you for listening, Milah darling,” she said, pacing the room. “I sure look forward to seeing you lose everything in court. Enjoy the rest of your day. Cheerio!”

With a click, the longest and most unnerving moment of Malcolm Gold's life was over.

Ella offered his phone back. “You're welcome.”

He didn't take it, instead choosing to shout some more, “ _Are you out of your mind_?”

“Now, brother dear, there is no need to shout.”

“I was solving this!” he ignored her, volume still rising. “I was going to settle things and be out of here in a week! Why did you do this?”

“We did you a favor,” Ursula said, her voice even. “She was going to suck you dry if you let her.”

He scoffed. “Are you even a lawyer?”

“Yes.”

He blinked, taken aback.

“Tritton, Benson and Carroll, attorneys at law. I'm Carroll.”

“I don't _care_!” he replied, voice rising again. “This was too far, Ella, even for you.”

“Yes, sorry,” Ella said, looking as far from sorry as a person could. “But soon you will see that it was for a good cause.”

“Shove your good cause!” he shouted, and headed back to the kitchen to retrieve his cane.

Ella looked at Ursula and Mal. “Oh well, we tried.”

“No,” Mal said, pointedly. “We stole his phone and prevented him from giving in to his nasty wife.”

“Can't we just leave it at that and call it a day?”

“We cannot,” Ursula said, indicating Malcolm as he tried to cross the living room again, cane in hand.

Ella sighed. “And where are you going?”

“As far as I can from you!”

“Don't be a Drama Queen, little big brother. Me and the girls have a proposition for you.”

“Not interested!”

“He's not interested, girls. Oh, well, we tried.”

Ella tried to turn away, but Mal and Ursula held her in place.

“It's a business proposition,” Mal announced.

Malcolm laughed. “There it is. Well, I'll have you know I have no money to sponsor your enterprise, whatever it might be.”

“We don't need _your_ money. And we sure as hell don't need your attitude,” Mal said.

Ursula added, “Actually, I would keep the attitude, but redirect it somewhere else.”

“And if you sit down and talk to us, I assure you not only will you not have to bend to your wife's wishes, you'll make money by doing exactly what you love most.”

“And what is that?”

“Being an unscrupulous bastard.”

Malcolm scoffed. “What is it? Real estate, law, or politics?”

“Journalism,” Ella answered.

“Of sorts,” Mal added.

“Sit down, little big brother. We've got a proposition for you.”


End file.
